Make Me Feel Alive
by Cinnamon-A
Summary: I kiss her forehead and stroke her hair, in the hope that she will eventually fall back asleep. But some nights are worse than others, when the pain is just too much. Those are the nights in which I place my lips on everything that hurts her. And when I check one more time, Katniss isn't sleeping. 'Please, Peeta. Prove to me I'm alive' Co-author: belladonnablush
1. I

They say that some people cry not because they are weak, but because they have been strong for too long.

Katniss is one of those people, and now she's scared.

I can see it in her eyes, I can hear it in her voice.

Her breath catches in her throat just before her bottom lip starts to quiver. Her beautiful grey eyes start to water up with the first of a very long series of tears.

She's just trying to keep it together, my girl on fire. Always trying to seem strong when all she wants to do is to be able to cry and not to be judged for her behavior.

But it is just me, her and Haymitch now, and she knows she can trust us. Yet, she tries to be strong, waiting for darkness to come and take her pain away.

As soon as we leave district 8, we look out the small window to see nothing but sadness and decay: In just a matter of hours the district has turned into a grey jail. The last thing we see that catches our eye before the sun sets is a sign on a wall.

Big red letters spell out the haunting sentence 'The odds are never in our favor'

[...]

It takes me a good couple of hours to calm her down.

I sit her on the bed and sit behind her. I untie her hair from the long braid she's been wearing all day, letting those brown waves fall free down her back. I try to let her talk about what she's feeling, but all I get is silence. So my hands find the base of her neck instead and I start massaging her gently.

With that simple gesture, she breaks and my heart aches at this sight. Her perfect figure melts back into my embrace and she holds onto me for dear life, until I see her eyelids close and I pull her down to lie on the bed.

'It'll be okay, Katniss'

I hold her close to my chest and lull her to sleep. But it doesn't take long for the monsters she fears to come for her. Tonight she dreams of mutts and dead children. And red paint draining down a white wall just like fresh blood would.

She screams her sister's name out and she finally lets those tears roam free down her cheeks.

So I start whispering in her ear, but my words are nothing but old lies she's heard thousands of times.

'Katniss you need to calm down, you're okay, it was just a dream...it was just a dream...'

This time she replies, her voice broken by sobs.

'It was so real Peeta, the fire, Prim's voice..I just don't feel alive anymore.'

'You are alive, Katniss. You're right here, it was just a nightmare'

This is our routine now, our little ritual: she wakes up and I help her through the rest of the night.

Then I kiss her forehead and stroke her hair, in the hope that she will eventually fall back asleep.

But some nights are worse than others, when the pain is just too much. Those are the nights in which I place my lips on everything that hurts her.

And when I check one more time, Katniss isn't sleeping.

And when I hear her voice, I know this is going to be one of those nights.

_'Please prove it to me, Peeta. Prove to me I'm alive'_


	2. II

Katniss POV

"You're very much alive." Peeta reassures me. "I can feel your heartbeat," he says, resting his palm on my collarbone. "Your heart is pounding, Katniss, I can feel it. You're terrified."

Only it's not just my nightmare that's making my heart race, it's the way the touch of his hand on my upper chest reminds me that I'm not only afraid of dying; I'm afraid of dying without ever understanding why he has this effect on me, why the most innocent brush of his fingers across my collarbone makes me dizzy. Why I fear his touch, yet I crave it even more.

Peeta slowly rubs his palm across my shoulder in a motion that he intends to be soothing, but instead it makes my head spin and my body tremble beneath his hand.

"You're shaking." he says, pulling me closer into his arms.

"No," I protest, "I'm not terrified, I'm just...just..."

"It's okay to be scared. You don't have to be strong in front of me."

I wish I were as strong as Peeta gives me credit for. But little by little I'm breaking inside, and his words push me to the brink of falling apart. I look downward, and another tear falls from each of my eyes. He brings his hand to my face and gently wipes my cheek dry with his thumb.

"I don't want to be afraid anymore." I admit to him. "I just want to forget about everything- the tour, the capitol- I want all of it to go away and not be real."

"I wish I could make that happen." he whispers back to me.

I place my hand on top of his, that still rests on my cheek, but I don't look up at him, not yet. I know that if I do, he'll see it in my eyes, all of it. The fear that I carry, not only for myself, but for him. How much I've come to care about the boy with the bread, the boy who has sacrificed for me, protected me... who protects me still. How much I want to tell him so, but I can't seem to find the words. How much I want to touch him, but I don't know how.

All I know is that I harbor a deep and growing sense of foreboding, that Snow will never let us out of his clutches. He can put us on display and parade us around on the tour all he wants, but I know he will eventually find a way to make us pay dearly for our victory, and if he has his way, the price will be our lives. Every day I wake up fearing that I may never have another chance to feel Peeta's touch, to know the safety of his arms, and that if we're going to die, I want him to know that I loved him.

"You can, you know." I murmur.

"How? Just tell me what I can do to make you feel safe and I'll do it-"

"Shh." I quietly shush him, placing my fingers over his lips, and slowly look up at him. I lean closer, until our faces are nearly touching. He looks at me, sighs and softly kisses my fingertips that are delicately tracing his bottom lip.

"Peeta, these lips always know the right things to say to soothe me, to quiet the fire inside of me. But tonight, I don't want them to tell me. I want them to show me. Show me what is real."

I move my fingers from his lips to his chin, lifting it just enough for my lips to meet his for a moment, before I whisper, "Put your mouth on me, Peeta."

His lips are warm as he kisses me back, but then he pauses and asks, "We've kissed plenty of times. How is that going to-"

"Put your mouth on ALL of me, Peeta." I clarify, barely able to squeak out the words, I'm so nervous.

I watch as a hundred emotions flicker in his blue eyes for a split second before he truly understands what I'm asking for.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice suddenly raspy in a way I've never heard before, and it makes my heart skip a beat.

I nod my head at him.

"Please, Peeta." I plead, just above a whisper. "Make me forget that tomorrow will ever come."

Then I curl my fingers into the back of his hair and pull his mouth to mine, hoping to make it clear to him that I want more of his kisses... many, many more.

When his lips make their way down my chin and he begins kissing a trail down my throat, the heat of his breath on my skin makes me shiver, and he hesitates for a second.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Mmm-hmm." I mumble, arching my neck back in enjoyment.

He kisses further down, pausing for a moment to dip his tongue into the hollow at the base of my throat, and I suck my breath in.

"Is that good?"

"So good." I encourage him.

He presses sweet, tender kisses down my upper chest, until he reaches the V where my blouse is buttoned, and then he stops and looks up at me, waiting for either my permission or directions or both.

With trembling fingers, I unbutton the tiny buttons one by one, and then open my blouse to him. I can't tell which one of us is more flustered- me, feeling more vulnerable than ever as I'm lying here half undressed, or Peeta, who is blushing fiercely as he tries not to stare too obviously at my bra. It's not that we've never seen each other partially unclothed before, it's just that we've never been_ looking _at each other's bodies this way before.

"You know, I wouldn't mind if you gave me something to look at, too." I joke, trying to break the tension between us.

"Oh! Right...yeah." Peeta agrees, as he sits up quickly and pulls his shirt off over his head, then lowers himself back down next to me. "Better?"

Oh my...shirtless Peeta is much better indeed.

"Better." I nod, reaching my hand out and pressing it softly to the warm, bare skin over his heart. I leave my palm there for a few moments, indulging my own need to feel the steady rhythm that pulses beneath my hand. Bittersweet memories wash over me, reminding me of how many nights we've spent when Peeta's heartbeat has been the one thing that could calm my nightmare-induced terror, as he cradled my head to his chest and held me in his arms until my breathing slowed to match the rate of his own, and together we would drift back to sleep.

Without saying a word, I make a silent promise to both him and myself, that I will do whatever it takes to keep his golden heart beating. I will somehow find a way to protect him from Snow, to give him the gift of life, even if it ends up costing me my own. I know he would do the same for me, but I'm not going to let him. With each day that at passes, my anxiety grows that the time I have remaining to make Peeta understand how much I truly love him is quickly dwindling away. I cannot lose another precious second. I want this night to be the memory that he holds onto and remembers me by when I'm gone.

I close my eyes so Peeta can't see the tears that have welled up once again. I lower my mouth to his chest and softly kiss him over his heart, next to where my hand still rests. His chest rises and falls with a deep breath, and I suddenly want to touch him everywhere, to kiss him everywhere, to explore all the parts of him that I don't know yet, and may not ever have another chance to know.

My own heart is pounding hard again, filled with a mixture of desirous curiosity and nervous trepidation at the promise of learning Peeta's body more intimately. Ever so slowly, I begin sliding my palm down his abdomen, until the heel of my hand reaches the soft, blonde trail of hair that leads down his lower belly. My fingertips follow it down to the waist of his pants, and I feel his stomach muscles tense up in response to my touch.

"Mmm, that feels nice." he sighs. "Come here, let me show you." he says, turning me onto my back, and him on his side, propped up on one elbow.

He helps me slide my arms out of my shirt sleeves, then slips one finger beneath the bra strap on my left shoulder and moves it aside just a little, sliding it onto my upper arm. Longingly, he kisses his way from my shoulder down into the valley of my cleavage while his hand travels down my arm and comes to rest, open palmed on my ribs.

He begins rubbing his fingers in light circles on my abdomen, raising goosebumps on my skin from the tickle of his touch. He continues making invisible patterns on my belly, as if he were finger painting on a canvas, inching his way slowly upward until his thumb brushes against the underside of one of my breasts. Even through the thin cotton of my bra, the sensation feels so unexpectedly arousing, that his name just falls from my lips in a breathy sigh.

"_Peeta..."_

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks, worried that my sigh means I'm uncomfortable with where this is going.

"No," I reassure him. "Please don't stop."

I put my hand over his and move it just enough so that his palm now covers the cup of my bra. He looks at me for a second, and I simply nod my consent to him. He begins kneading my breast with his hand, tracing his thumb over my nipple when it hardens into an erect peak clearly visible through the fabric. He brings his other hand to my chest and cups that breast as well, kissing his way from one side to the other.

Craving more contact, I clumsily reach behind my back to unhook my bra, and once I've gotten it opened, I let Peeta do the honors of removing it and dropping it next to our bodies. He meets my eyes and holds my gaze as he lowers his face to my bosom that he holds in both hands, taking a few moments to rub one pert nipple back and forth along his lower lip, teasing me, before finally taking it into his mouth.

"Mmm," he moans appreciatively, his mouth enveloping my entire nipple now and suckling it with his tongue. He releases it only long enough to tell me, "I've wanted this for so long, Katniss. _So_ long,"

and then he turns his attention to my other breast.

We take turns traversing each other's bodies with inquisitive hands and mouths, mapping every curve and contour with kisses and caresses. We laugh together at the occasional awkward moments, like when I fumble with the buckle of his belt and can't seem to get it undone without his help, or when he tries to kick off his boots without untying them, which only ends up making the double knots in the laces even tighter.

"Dammit!" Peeta curses under his breath, as he sits up next to me in his underwear, his pants pooled down at his ankles and his cheeks ruddy with irritation as he works at the knots until he finally manages to pull off the boots and then his pants.

"Now where was I?" he drawls as he turns back to me and eases his body on top of mine, lying between my legs.

"Mmm, right about here, I think." I say, wrapping my arms around his back and pulling him closer to me until his mouth meets mine again. The longer we kiss, the more his hips rock slowly against mine, his hardness pressed against my center and creating a delightful sensation of friction, even through both of our underwear.

Peeta begins moving himself down my body, one kiss at a time, his breaths warm and tickly against my skin as he makes his way down my chest and then my belly until he's below my navel. When his lips reach the waistband of my panties, he pauses, deciding to do the next part of his exploration first with his fingers, and _then_ with his mouth.

The pads of his fingertips skim across the fabric over my hip and then down between my legs.

"How's this?" he asks, as he touches me through the cotton of my panties, stroking his way lightly up and down the length of my crotch. I find myself shifting my hips in sync with his hand, each pass of his fingers making me yearn for more.

"Ohh, it's good, Peeta. Really good." I answer in a throaty whisper.

When he gives in to his curiosity and slips his fingers beneath my panties and slowly sinks them into the wetness he's created, it's impossible to tell which one of us is enjoying it more.

"Oh God, you're so wet Katniss." he murmurs breathlessly. "Just feel how wet you are." He slides his fingers up through my folds, as if to show me just how slick I am down there.

"I- I know," I stammer. "I can feel it."

He keeps his hand there, held snugly to my flesh by the damp material of my underwear. He continues the slow strokes of his fingers between my folds, watching my face the whole time to gauge my reaction. It's not long before he notices that each time he passes over my clitoris, my hips automatically shift upward just a bit, wanting more, so soon he just keeps his motions centered there, pleased to see me enjoying his touch.

"May I take these off?" he asks me, tugging at one side of my panties.

"Yeah." I reply, lifting my bottom up just enough so that he can pull them down my legs and add them to the growing pile of our clothes at our feet. He parts my legs and sits between them, spreading my knees a little further open and gazing needfully at my body before him.

"I want to taste you now, Katniss. Is that okay?"

"Yes."

He moves towards my center slowly, as if I might change my mind if he moves too fast. He kisses his way down the inside of my thigh, making quiet sighing noises of enjoyment. I suddenly wonder why he seems so confident about touching me, when I feel so naïve and clueless about touching him.

"Peeta?"

"Yeah?" he asks, stopping in his tracks at my mid-thigh and looking up at me. "Do you not like this?"

"No!" I say quickly, then shake my head. "I mean, yes I like it. Um, what I mean to say is... have you done this before?" I ask sheepishly, trying to mentally prepare myself for how I will respond if he says he has done this with some other girl back in district 12.

"No." he answers with an embarrassed grin. "Never. Is it that obvious that I don't know what I'm doing?"

"No, no. Just the opposite. I thought maybe you had... you just seem so...sure about what you're doing."

"I'm not sure at all," he laughs lightly, and it makes me laugh with him. "I've just spent a lot of time thinking about what I'd like to do to you, if you wanted me to."

I smile at him, relieved that he is no more experienced than I am.

"Is this still what you want?" he double checks with me.

"Yes, I want this."

"Okay then." he whispers, just before his lips kiss me where I've never been kissed before. "Tell me what feels good."

Everything he does that night feels good.

Slowly, tenderly, he explores me with his mouth. He holds me open with his fingers, as gently as if he were separating the petals of a flower. When I look down to watch him, his eyes are closed in concentration as he uses his tongue in soft strokes, learning every part of me. I watch the muscles in his jaw flexing as he works, his lips shiny and glistening with the wetness he hungrily laps up from me. Apparently his excellent public speaking abilities are not the only skills Peeta's mouth has been blessed with.

It takes a long time and a lot of patience, but Peeta doesn't stop licking me until I come, making me writhe and gasp in pleasure, with both my hands tangled in his blonde hair.

Still feeling exhilarated and emboldened by the orgasm he gave me, I do the same for him, tugging his boxer briefs off of him and taking my time learning his anatomy. He's hard and hot and pulsing in my hand as I touch him, and I'm anxious as I take him into my mouth for the first time about how I will manage to do this without gagging and embarrassing myself. But Peeta is so gentle with me as he shows me how to stroke him, how to suck him. He holds back his urge to thrust deeper into my mouth, letting me learn how to do it without hitting my gag reflex.

It takes him much less time to climax than it did me. He warns me that he's about to come and he quickly pulls out, coming onto his own stomach instead of in my mouth, and I'd be lying if I said that watching him come like that didn't turn me on.

Once he's cleaned himself up, he pulls my body against his and holds me close, our limbs all tangled together. I run my fingers through his hair, my nose resting against his jaw, smelling his soothing scent that is uniquely Peeta, that I've come to associate with safety and comfort. He's succeeded in making me feel alive again... in fact my body feels more alive than it ever has, and I want more. I kiss my way towards his ear and then whisper, "Will you make love to me, Peeta?"

He turns his head to look at me and cradles my face between both of his hands. He kisses my forehead and then the tip of my nose and then finally my lips.

"I will, Katniss, believe me I want to. But not tonight."

"Why not?" I ask.

"Because I don't want us to just rush through everything all at once. I want to savor every single discovery we make together. And right now, this feels perfect. When I make love to you, I want it to be when the moment feels right to take that next step. So I'm willing to wait a little bit longer for that, if you are."

"Okay," I agree, burying my face into the crook of his neck so he can't see the water that's filling my eyes against my will. I don't share Peeta's optimism that we have unlimited time to be together, but his heart is in the right place, as it always is. I'm hoping against all odds that we still have some time before Snow chooses to exact his revenge; that I won't die before knowing what it feels like to have Peeta inside of me, for us to be able to come together, looking in each other's eyes.

But if this is the way Peeta wants it, then I'm willing to take my chances.


End file.
